Ewa Bash
Crystal Garden

Prologue

The moonlight barely penetrated the narrow lancet windows of the medieval Bohemian church. Small candles dimly lit old frescoes depicting saints. The church was quiet and deserted, except for an elderly priest who was dosing over a book. The door opened almost silently, letting in an icy wind. A young man lingered in the doorway, as if considering his next move. He stepped in, closed the door behind him and walked up the aisle straight to the altar, the sound of his footsteps echoing from the stone walls. The snowflakes that sparkled in his blond hair melted, leaving footprints on his white coat. He held a long canvas package, and as he knelt before the altar, he placed it down and unfolded it to reveal an ancient sword. Upon the sword were engraved words that glistened in the candlelight. The young man folded his hands, bowed his head to the side, and looked up at the crucified Christ above the altar.

“So, here I am.” He spoke quietly in English with a slight German accent. “You know, this time I did everything I could.” He fell into a thoughtful silence before speaking again. “I ask only one thing of you – take care of them.”

Part I

1

I was born in Western Germany on a cold, rainy day in October 1986. My mother once told me that she had to travel to the hospital all alone in the pouring rain that night, as my father was at work – as usual. He was always working, day and night. His days were spent at the timber works, and at night he worked as a warehouse operative. Of course, on such a schedule, he didn’t have time for his family. As for my mother, she wrote for the local newspaper, giving tips on how to build relationships or grow gladioli. She was a perfect example of how you can give advice without actually being a specialist in anything. In our family, everyone was on their own. We were not even a family in its primary sense, just a collection of people under one roof.

It’s no wonder I became a troubled teen. I wasn’t a brawler or a drug addict, oh no. I studied well and came home on time. My “problem” was that nobody knew how to communicate with me. People around seemed so boring that I stayed silent most of the time, simply not understanding why anyone would bother to discuss such mundane things as weather, football or a film they watched last Sunday. In a way, I was a rebel, as I didn’t give a damn about public opinion. I was living in my own world by my own rules. I did what I wanted, the way I wanted.

The only person who could tolerate me was Sunny. His real name was Robert, but nobody called him that, not even his parents or teachers. I don’t remember how he came to be known as Sunny. Maybe it was because of his red hair and freckles.

Sunny pretended to be a pacifist and always avoided conflict. It was so important to him that everyone adored him. And people did adore him. He was positive, friendly, a ray of sunshine in this grey world. But I knew that this was only pretense, the mask he wore.

Nobody understood his relationship with me. It seemed to outsiders that we had nothing in common, but that wasn’t so. Our imaginations ran wild together, which troubled his parents. They scolded him, put him under house arrest, banned him from hanging out with me, or watching TV. My parents, on the other hand, had little interest in my life. Nothing was said as long as I came home before dinner, or at least before breakfast.

We lived in a small house in the suburbs at the edge of the forest. There, Sunny and I spent our childhood. At dawn, we would ride our bikes into the woods to our homemade hut filled with dishes, blankets and even food. We’d make a fire and cook fish that we’d caught in the Danube. Once, after reading “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” we built a raft to journey down the river, but it fell apart after a couple of miles. It was a miracle that we managed to get back to the shore. I remember being afraid of the water for at least a month after that.

Thinking back, we did many crazy things. We dared each other to jump off the roofs, and always seemed to have skinned knees and elbows. We rode our bikes like madmen trying to find out who was the fastest. We hunted birds with catapults. Once, Sunny took his father’s air rifle, and we shot a thrush. It was so small, so defenseless. I still remember that first acquaintance with death very well, and that uncomfortable feeling of pity and frustration. Why? Just like that? For fun? But I didn’t find it funny. It seemed too cruel. We buried the thrush and never hunted animals again – at least not together as children.

Sunny was undoubtedly the leader, but I tried to keep up. Looking back on those days, I realise that he was always walking a tightrope. Always tempting fate. I wonder what were his chances of growing up.

When we were a little older, we started playing football in the school playground with other guys, but I found it boring. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t really interested in kicking a ball. I much preferred sitting on the rocky shore of the hazy Danube early in the morning and dreaming about the future.

“When I grow up,” Sunny told me, “I’m gonna become an archeologist like Indiana Jones.” His eyes glistened as he spoke. “I will search for artifacts and have adventures.”

My dream was that in a couple of years I would find a job and move away from my parents, start making money, buy my first car and someday marry a beautiful girl. Life would be as it should be, ordinary and simple. Such naivety! Sunny’s head was always in the clouds, but I remained firmly on the ground. I was convinced that miracles would never happen to those who were waiting for them. I could only rely on myself and was almost ready to live a long and boring life like my parents did and their parents before them, and their grandparents, and so on to Adam, or whoever we descended from.

Time passed by, and when we were fourteen, we fell in love with the same girl. Her name was Anna and she came from Berlin. She was fostered by her grandfather after her parents died in a car crash. Anna’s life was tough, but she didn’t give up. She was always smiling. I still remember the cloudy winter morning when she first walked into our class. She seemed to come from another world. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, her big blue eyes were shining and her sandy-coloured curls were covered with snowflakes. And her smile. I would have given anything in the world for her to smile at me.

Sunny was the first to befriend her. One day at break, he sat down at her desk, and they started laughing about something. It upset me so much that after class I caught him in the school playground and nailed him to the wall, ready for a fight.

“Leave Annie alone. Find some other girl.”

“But I like her,” he replied. He pushed me slightly, but I continued to hold him by his jacket collar.

“I like her too.”

“You will never be good enough for her!” Sunny said as he pushed harder so that I almost lost my balance. “You will never amount to anything.” He pushed again. “You’d prefer to suffer alone than ever say a word to her!”

And then, for the first time in my life, I hit him. With my fist. On his face. He was taken aback and looked surprised. But I was still furious and struck him again. Only then did he hit back. His first blow reached my jaw, the second caught me somewhere near the eyebrow. We both fell, fighting each other with varying success until we were both exhausted. Sunny was the first to give up. He sat against a wall, breathing heavily. His jacket was torn and missing one button, the blood dried on his split lip. I guess I looked no better. My jaw was starting to hurt – I guessed he broke it.

“Gosh, you surprised me,” Sunny said. “I never imagined you’d do something like that. Because of a girl.” He smiled.”

“I said I like her,” I muttered as I sat down beside him. My anger soon passed, and it even started to feel like some kind of moral victory. I guess I really needed to blow off steam. “I’ll ask her for a dance on Valentine’s Day.”

“Deal,” said Sunny and held out his hand. “Peace?”

“Peace,” I replied as I shook his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, I felt ashamed. He was my best friend who was always beside me, and I’d treated him so badly. Who knows if that fight had never happened, and he’d spent more time with Anna, then things could have ended very differently…

“It’s OK. It was actually cool to fight you,” he smiled. “That’s what friends are for, right?” and we laughed.

I prepared thoroughly for Valentine’s Day. It’s no wonder, really, as there was nothing more important at that time in my life than asking a girl for the first dance. I put on my best jeans and even ironed my shirt. The bruises on my face were almost gone, and I was handsome again. At least that’s what I thought. Sunny, although he claimed to have given up on Anna, dressed up like a bridegroom and even wore some perfume.

However, when the time came, to our utter dismay, the first dance with Anna was won by Martin the fat guy. She could have had anybody, why Martin! We thought he was the nerdiest boy at school, mainly because he was always poking his nose where it wasn’t wanted and was eager to give his opinion on everything. The adults on the other hand adored him. “Such a clever boy!” Well, he clearly impressed Anna, and we watched on as he danced all night with our girl. Sunny found this extremely funny.

“Let’s go and beat him!” he chuckled, nudging me with his elbow. “Let’s go, huh?” I knew he wasn’t saying it to tease me, and I was no longer angry with him. But I was angry with the rest of the world and its unspeakable injustice. If only I knew then what real injustice was. I admit that I didn’t approach Anna at the party, in fact, not until the following May. But we’ll come back to that later.

2

That year, Sunny’s parents sent him to a summer camp somewhere near Berlin, and I stayed at home. I spent three weeks loitering around with no idea what to do. I was bored. Computers and TV shows didn’t interest me, and I didn’t read books. It was then that I hit upon the idea to draw comic characters. I don’t remember why or how, but I started to depict beautiful Amazons, who lived in a magical world and fought with an army of demons with their magical powers. I bought a dozen different comics and at first tried to imitate them, but then started to draw myself. That’s how all of a sudden I discovered I was a talented artist.

Of course, I drew comics about her. My great and good warrior of light fighting for justice. What an irony! I dreamed of her and only of her, although I was sure I would never be good enough for her. So much of my time was wasted on doubt and uncertainty. I was afraid of failure. What if she won’t talk to me? What if she laughs at me? I thought I wouldn’t be able to bear it. Well, now I know I am capable of surviving something much worse.

That was the summer it all went wrong. Sunny came back from the camp and was constantly talking about his new friends. He told me how they ran away from the camp each night and had fun in Berlin, and how they met some university guys who helped them to get into one of the coolest clubs in the city. I was jealous and envious, I couldn’t even begin to imagine such adventures.

Gradually we began to drift apart. Sunny was always hanging out with his new friends who I didn’t like, and I was busy with my comic book. If only I knew then how little time we had, I would have done anything to spend more time with him. But I didn’t know, and at the time I felt betrayed by him, when in actual fact it was probably me who betrayed him. I was so occupied with my personal drama over Anna that I didn’t notice his sudden and strange metamorphoses. Sunny became unsociable, and his mood seemed to change twenty times an hour. One minute he was happy and smiling, the next he was depressed or even aggressive. Everyone thought he was just growing up and going through a normal teenage phase – but by the time it came to raise the alarm, it was too late.

That day, Sunny and I decided to skip classes. It was the end of November, and it was snowing for the first time that year. Big, fluffy snowflakes fell as we walked through the park. There was a large old orchard next to the school back then, with tree-lined paths, wooden benches, a pond with ducks and a humpback bridge. It was a crowded place in the summer. Picnickers, sweethearts, artists, and those who liked to read outdoors could be seen under every apple tree. But that day there was nobody at all. The snow had been falling all morning, and the trees bowed under the white caps. Sunny was as happy as a child. He was running on the fresh snow, picking it up and tossing it into the air. I looked at him and laughed, then all of a sudden, he fell to his knees. His shoulders were shaking. I couldn’t see his face at first, so I thought he was laughing too. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably less than a minute, I rushed to him. He was scooping snow with his hands and looking in front of him. Tears were rolling down his face. It was the first time I’d noticed how blue his eyes were, like the sky in January. His teardrops were huge.

“Hey, what’s up?” I asked, sitting beside him. No reaction. He kept staring at something, and he didn’t even seem to blink.

“Sunny,” I slightly patted him on the shoulder. “Hey, what happened? Tell me.”

He closed his eyes, but didn’t make a sound. The falling snow was melting on his cheeks, diluting his tears. I was embarrassed. I’d never seen him cry. We sat like that for a long time, my jeans got wet from the snow. His hands seemed to be freezing, and he put them into his pockets, but he didn’t change his position. I was feeling cold too and was about to suggest we go home, when Sunny spoke.

“We were at a club, seven of us. Alex and I were the only 14, but the others were older. They studied at uni. We had two girls with us, real beauties. They bought us some beer and allowed us to dance with them. We thought it was so cool, and we were so grown up. But then they suggested we try something interesting to have more fun…”

He paused, and I patiently waited. Assumptions, each worse than the last, were lining up in my head, but I didn’t dare ask him to continue. To be honest, I don’t think I wanted to know the truth.

“They offered us some pills.” Sunny rose to his feet after quite an effort. His knees were wet with snow, and he didn’t even shake it off. “I couldn’t say no,” he said quietly and turned to walk away.

I sat and considered his words for a while, then I rose and went after him. “Sunny, you …” I started to say, but couldn’t finish.

He stopped and slowly turned around. I can still see his face with the look of despair, hopelessness and fear.

“I’m an addict, Walter.” His voice broke, then he turned and ran.

I ran after him, but soon fell behind. I didn’t really want to catch up with him. I wanted to wake up. I wanted this conversation to have never happened. I wanted last summer to have never happened too. I thought my world had collapsed. How wrong I was! My world would collapse a bit later.

For a while, everything was as before. Once again, we played “shooters” and “strategies” on the internet, we hung around and played football in the backyard. We barely spoke about his addiction. From time to time, Sunny would say he wanted to quit, but didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know whom to speak to or how to ask for help. He was afraid that if people at school found out, there would be a huge scandal. At best, he would be kicked out and sent to rehab, and this would be a disgrace to his whole family and to our school as well. His parents, as ill-luck would have it, were too busy with their own problems. Out of the blue, they decided that after 15 years of marriage, they were getting a divorce. In their minds, their son was now more or less grown up, and they wanted a second youth. So, Sunny felt almost alone in his fight, and I could not give him the support he needed. After all, I was only 15. I had no idea what to do. We just kept on pretending that nothing was wrong.

3

One day after school, Sunny came up to me. His cheeks were red, his eyes glistened, and his pupils were wildly dilated.

“Come with me,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse.

“Where to?” For some reason, I also spoke in a whisper.

“A dude is having a party.” He moved very close to me. “I want you to meet my friends.”

“Friends?” I said as I tried to step back from him. I didn’t like my personal space violated, even by him.

“You don’t know them,” he replied as he moved closer, “but they are awesome.”

I took another step back and felt the wall behind me. There was no escape. Sunny was waiting for an answer. His breath was heavy and hot, almost like he had a fever. I didn’t want to go with him, but I reluctantly agreed.

He took me to the other side of the town. He knew the area well and had no trouble finding his way along the streets lined with dozens of identical apartment buildings. We went into one of them and took the lift to the fifth floor. The corridors were bright and clean, with potted flowers on windowsills. This was not how I’d pictured a drug dealer’s hang-out to look. Sunny knocked on one of the doors. A moment later we heard hurried footsteps, and as the lock clicked, a guy appeared in the doorway. He was wearing jeans with a half-buttoned shirt, and his hair was a mess. In short, he looked like a completely ordinary teenager.

“Hey, duuude,” drawled the guy, smiling from ear to ear and patting Sunny on the shoulder.

“This is Walter,” Sunny said to introduce me.

The guy nodded and closed the door. Meanwhile, Sunny took off his jacket and walked into the living room. I hesitated a bit in the hallway. I looked at my reflection in the huge mirror that hung on the wall. I was regretting my decision to come here, and it was written on my face. My pupils we almost like Sunny’s, except I was not stoned.

The apartment clearly belonged to rich people. In the beautiful, expensively furnished living room were several teenagers. Two more guys and three girls. They were about my age and well-dressed. These were the sort of teens that would usually be referred to as “gilded youth”; children of rich parents who have everything but have no idea how to entertain themselves. Oh, Sunny, how did you get here? We did not belong in this circle. We weren’t bought expensive cars and apartments in the city for our birthdays.

They were happy to see Sunny. The girls immediately fell around his neck. I felt a twinge of jealousy. After Sunny finished his welcome hugs and kisses, he remembered that I was still standing beside him. He began to introduce me, but I didn’t even try to remember their names. I already hated them. I envied them. I could barely save enough money to buy a motorbike, and they had everything. Of course, Sunny wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to be part of this society. Was it good for him? No. On the other hand, I wasn’t much of a friend either, if he preferred this company to mine.

They were drinking cocktails, smoking, laughing, discussing recent parties, and planning holidays amongst other stuff. I just sat there and watched. I had nothing to say to them, even if I wanted to. I saw them getting drunk and I felt disgusted. I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. I was dizzy from the cigarette smoke.

I must have dozed off, as I was brought back to consciousness by a scream. The scream came from one of the girls. She was writhing in hysterics and one of the guys was holding her and trying to shut her mouth. She was pointing at the other girl who was slowly slipping off the couch until she was standing with one knee on the floor and was holding on to the coffee table. She was incredibly pale and seemed to be suffocating. Sunny was gently supporting her. He slowly and carefully laid the girl on the floor. She was shivering, but I wasn’t certain if she was still conscious. She stared in front of her, but seemed to see nothing. Another guy felt her pulse. I rushed to them, but the third guy pushed me aside. He had some kind of syringe in his hand. Sunny rose to his feet, gave way to the guy and grabbed me by the elbow. He was pulling me to the door.

“Come, we should leave,” he said. “They know what to do. Come. Nobody should see us here.”

Sunny slipped my jacket over my shoulders and practically pushed me out of the door. I was trying to resist and couldn’t take my eyes off what was happening in the living room. Everyone was crowded around the girl, and as I glanced back, I saw a pale hand on the green carpet. It appeared to be completely lifeless.

4

The next day, Sunny didn’t show up at school, so I decided to leave before the end of my classes and go to his house. Sunny opened the door almost immediately. He looked ill and exhausted, barefoot, shirtless, and was wearing old sweat pants. He looked around, as if to check that I hadn’t been followed, then let me in. Without a word, he walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. I took off my jacket and went after him. Sunny picked up the remote control and began to channel surf. He seemed scared, concerned, perhaps even desperate. He was tapping his fingers on the back of the couch and biting his lower lip.

“Are you alone?” I asked. He nodded nervously, still staring at the TV screen. I stood between him and the TV. He leaned to the side to see what was happening on the screen. It was more of a mechanical move than a sign of real interest.

“What happened to her?” I asked. He slowly raised his head, looked at me and bit his lip as if pondering what to say.

“She’s in intensive care,” he said finally.

“Will she survive?” I asked.

“Gosh, I don’t know, Walter!” He threw the TV remote and rose from the couch. “If they find out that we were there, we’ll have a big problem.” He began to pace the room.

“You’re worried about us?” I asked after a short pause.

“Of course!” he replied, his voice full of despair. “And you’re not?”

“That girl almost died right in front of your eyes, and your biggest concern is that someone might find out we were there?” I was frustrated. I still couldn’t shake the image of her motionless hand from my mind.

“To hell with her, she’s a stupid… uh,” Sunny waved his hand.

“What’s wrong with you?” I went up to him, grabbed him by the shoulders and began to shake. “Who are you, and where is Sunny? Huh?”

He pushed me away and sat on the edge of the coffee table.

“What can I do? How can I help her? Everyone seemed to be out for themselves, and only thinking about saving their own skin.”

“Why the hell do you need all of this?” I asked.

“This?” he questioned.

“This!” I threw up my hands, “drunken parties, drugs …”

“Dude, it’s cool!”

“What’s cool? I saw that girl. Oh, she was cool alright, deathly cool. Why on earth did you want me to come with you yesterday?”

“I wanted to show you real life.”

“Real life? C’mon, you call this a ‘life’?” I was shocked. What had happened to him over the last six months?

“It’s cool, it’s fun, it’s exciting!” He got up and came up to me. “It’s much more interesting than sitting at home every evening with stupid comics.”

“They’re not stupid,” I said through clenched teeth.

“And why the hell do you draw those stupid pictures?” He came too close.

“Because I like to,” I answered.

“And I do what I like.” he said as he walked away from me.

“But I doubt that I will end up like that girl with my stupid pictures,” I said under my breath.

“And I don’t care,” he shouted back. “I don’t care what happens to me. But at least I have experienced life!”

“Life, yeah,” I laughed sarcastically.

“Yeah, life. I take everything I want, and you can’t even come close to Annie. You’re a loser!” He spat out his words.

“Take a look at yourself.”

I grabbed my jacket and went out onto the porch. I was trying to fasten my zip, but couldn’t manage it. I was beside myself with anger and resentment. What happened to him? We were the best of friends. We had always understood each other without even needing to speak, so what now? The gulf between us was growing wider and wider. Damn! I pulled the zip again and pressed my fist to my mouth. I wanted to scream, but then I felt Sunny’s hand on my shoulder. I turned around and saw him standing barefoot on the cold porch and looking at me.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

We went back into the house.

“I can’t control myself,” he explained as he sat on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees. “I lose my temper and hurt people who are close to me, but I don’t want to. Damn!”

“I’m not angry with you,” I said. “I just want to be a part of your life, whatever that is.” I was standing in front of him with my hands in my jacket pockets. “You are my only friend.”

“You’re mine too.” he replied.

5

At the end of winter, Sunny told me about her. We had lunch in the school canteen. Neither of us had an appetite, but for different reasons.

“Check out that girl,” Sunny said to me as he nodded off to the side, but when I looked, I actually saw several girls. They were from senior class and were having fun discussing something.

“Which one?” I asked.

“That one with the long hair and the green dress.”

“I don’t see her.” I looked harder.

“C’mon, her hair is, uh, pure copper. Look! She’s smiling at us.”

He smiled back at someone, but I didn’t see anybody. The girl he described was not there. “Look, isn’t she a beauty?” Sunny was still smiling. “Such a kitty.”

“Kitty?” I looked around, trying to find the girl he was talking about.

“Yeah, she looks like a kitty. So pretty, and her eyes are so green.”

“Sunny, there is no such girl there!” I was getting embarrassed, as he was clearly hallucinating.

“There she is! Oh, she’s walking away.” He jumped to his feet, probably planning to rush to her, but I held him back. “She started at school at the beginning of the year. I often see her during breaks. When I see her next time, I will definitely introduce you to her.”

But there was no next time. It happened at the beginning of March. The snow had already melted, but the puddles had not dried yet, even though the sun was as warm as late spring. After school, we walked home. Sunny was very excited, chatting non-stop, tugging at my sleeve every second and pointing at everything. Dogs, cars, people – almost everything fascinated him. He was as happy as a little kid and was eager to share his excitement with me. I just nodded absently and said, “yes, yes, yes”. I was thinking about Annie. This morning I managed to exchange a few words with her, and it felt like the greatest achievement of my life.

And then I saw her just a few feet away in front of us. The girl that Sunny was always talking about. She really did have beautiful long hair with a copper tint. She looked straight at me and smiled. I slowed down without taking my eyes of her and waved my hand. I wanted to nudge Sunny, but he wasn’t there. I stopped, still holding out my hand and looking at the girl whose smile had become more sinister. Before I had a chance to call out for Sunny, I heard a loud car beep, then squeal of brakes and a scream.

It took a while for me to realise that the scream was mine.

Sunny was lying in the middle of the road, just a few feet away from the car that hit him. I rushed over to Sunny, but everything was happening in slow motion. It was as if I was not me, as if I was watching it happening to someone else. I ran up and shook his shoulder, unable to ascertain whether he was conscious or not. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t blinking. It seemed like he wasn’t even breathing. A crowd gathered. They spoke about something. Someone tried to lift me up, but I broke away as I wanted to help Sunny. Someone grabbed me and lead me somewhere. What was going on? I couldn’t understand.

Then there was darkness.

I was woken by my own voice.

“Sunny.”

I leapt up, and I was in my bedroom. The clock read 1.30am. It was dark outside, and it seemed to be raining. I needed to find out if the accident had really happened or whether it was just a bad dream. Please let it be a dream. Repeating these words, I took my mobile phone and dialled Sunny’s number. The operator informed me that the person I was trying to call was not available. I went into my sleeping parents’ bedroom.

“Mum,” I touched my mother’s shoulder. She shrugged but didn’t wake. “MOTHER.” I shook her more aggressively. She woke up and looked at me. In the darkness, I saw her eyes widen.

“Walter,” she said in a whisper, and I saw that she was scared.

“Mum, what happened?” I knelt beside the bed.

“Walter…” she started to say, but her words broke off.

“What is it, Mum?”

“Walter, Sunny is gone,” she said under her breath, but it seemed to me like she was screaming. Her words pierced my brain like a bullet. Sunny is gone? No, I refused to believe it.

I wondered when this nightmare would finally be over. I thought I would wake up, and everything would be fine again. Those early days passed in a blur. I barely remember his funeral. I remember there were many people, and it was a beautiful sunny morning. It was as if there had not been that terrible injustice. I remember his face. Quiet, peaceful, almost childlike. 15 years old. Only 15! He had such a short life, but so many plans.

I woke up from that blur in April. I remember I was sat drawing on a bench in the orchard and suddenly the realisation hit me. He was really gone. At that moment, I felt desperate. The despair was so deep and intense, that it was as if I hit the bottom of a deep, deep pit with no way of getting out. Darkness surrounded me, and I was enveloped in it. I felt my heart trying to fight back from the searing pain and I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I wanted to hide in a secluded corner and disappear, as if I had never existed. What was my place in the world now? Who needed me? A feeling of helplessness engulfed me. I couldn’t change anything, fix it, or turn back the clock. My world faded without him. I would never see him again. I would never hear his voice or his laughter. We would never again walk together after school, and he would never tell me about his grand plans again. I wanted to howl and climb the walls. I stopped eating and sleeping. If I fell asleep, I dreamed the same dream about the garden covered with white snow and Sunny on his knees with his back to me. I came up to him, but he was cold and still. I woke up screaming.

6

One night I was drawing in my room by the lamp light. I was trying to draw my beautiful Amazon in the heat of a battle with a terrifying monster, but nothing would come. I wasted dozens of sheets of paper and tore the last one up. I got furious. The door opened, and my mother entered the room. I pretended I hadn’t seen her, took a new sheet of paper and scribbled on it. Mother sat on the edge of the bed. She was looking at me without saying a word. I scribbled some more, and it became an outline of a face.

“Walter,” mother said quietly.

I didn’t respond and kept on sketching until I’d drawn a stiff upper lip and nose.

“I know it’s hard,” she said. Well, yes it was. But in our family, we didn’t communicate with each other. We all lived our own lives, and I was perfectly fine with that. Why break the tradition? I carefully drew one eye, then the other. My mother was still talking, trying to encourage me to “open my soul”, telling me she “understands me and wants to help me”, and that she is ready to listen to my problems. No way!

I added the eyelashes, then after some thought I lengthened them. They were never interested in my problems before, and now all of a sudden, they’ve become important.

“I know a very good doctor.”

Stop. Doctor? I was going to finish off the curls, but at the mention of a doctor my pencil hovered in the air, and I paused to listen.

“Albert is a very good doctor. He’s worked with adolescents for almost 20 years. He’s a psychologist and the kids love him.”

Albert. A psychologist. Kids … It was nonsense. I didn’t need a doctor. I continued to draw; a neck, shoulders, hand, sword in hand. Or should that be a spear?

“Walter, I’ve made an appointment for next Monday.”

I opted for spear, then started to make changes to the hand. Mother sat for a while looking at me. Then she nodded either to me or to herself and left the room.

On Monday, we went to see Albert. He was one of those experts who was adored by parents who believed he would help their children. However, the children did not like Albert, and neither did the teenagers. I was lying on the couch in his office while he sat next to me in his leather chair making notes in a large notebook. I don’t know why people think that lying on a couch helps you open your heart to an unsympathetic stranger. I was lying there examining the picture on the opposite wall. It depicted a summer meadow and a little girl playing with a big sheep dog.

“Walter,” he said. “You are going through a difficult period, but it will end soon.”

“Are you sure?” I thought.

“If you shrink into yourself, it will be more difficult for you to move on. Open up to me, share your feelings, and together we will decide what to do next. We all knew Robert, he was a good friend to many, and your loss is our loss.”

Robert. No-one called him Robert. Our loss? Who the hell are you to talk about him? Thoughts raced through my head, but I was silent.

“Death doesn’t only choose the sick and old”.

Oh, really.

“Sometimes it takes the young and healthy, but God works in mysterious ways.”

C’mon, and God is here, right.

“We have to believe that he is in heaven, and he’s ok.”

Are you a psychologist or a priest?

“He’s gone, but we continue to live, and we must not give way to grief.”

You try that.

“We must find the strength to move on …”

Blah, blah, blah. He talked a lot. He tried to appeal to my feelings, then to my mind, and then just resorted to asking questions that I only answered yes or no to. Later I heard him telling my mother that he was able to get talking teenagers who were far more troubled than me, and advised her to talk to me more about what was going on.

It made little sense, and the annoying questions angered me even more. I continued to go to the therapy sessions, but still refused to open up to Albert. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. I wanted everyone to leave me alone. I knew that they sympathised and were only trying to help. I knew that Sunny was gone, and I had to find a way to carry on. I knew that someday I’d probably adjust. I couldn’t share my feelings with my mother, who had suddenly remembered that I existed. Moreover, I had nothing to share with Albert, who really didn’t understand troubled teenagers like me. So, gradually the hideous monsters, who fought my beautiful Amazon, started taking the form of Albert and my parents.

7

In early May, one of my classmates, Alex, had a birthday party.

I did actually have normal relationships with my classmates. I wasn’t an outcast or a nerd, and I wasn’t an object of jokes or bullying. We just kept a respectful distance, which was a conscious choice I’d made. I never really strived to be a part of their company. It was enough for me to communicate with one person only – Sunny. But now, without him, my world became too empty. There were times when I didn’t talk to anybody for days, but now I desperately wanted to communicate. So desperately, that I went to that party.

Alex had a big, beautiful house just a few blocks from my parents’, but our house was nothing compared to his. The doors were wide open when I arrived, and I heard the music and laughter. At first, nobody noticed as I walked in and hesitated in the doorway. But soon all eyes were on me. Some people were surprised, some absolutely indifferent, and some even looked at me with sympathy. Sunny’s death was a shock for everyone, though not as great as it was for me. Two girls ran up to me and began offering me beer and vodka cocktails.

I don’t remember what I chose, but I was drunk pretty quickly. I sat slumped in a chair and stared blankly at the girls dancing in front of me. In one hand I held a cigarette, and in the other a glass of something alcoholic. I felt weird. My head was spinning. I inhaled, and the room disappeared in the fog. Suddenly I found myself on the steps of a ruined gothic church. Big snowflakes were falling from the night sky. My lonely footprints were lost somewhere in dark thicket of old trees.

“Walter”, someone whispered in my ear. I turned around, but saw no-one. “Walte-er”. The vision became fuzzy, and I was back in the room. A smiling girl was sitting on my lap.

“Hey, where were you?” She asked. I looked at her and said nothing. She reminded me of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland when he disappeared and only his smile was left. That’s all I saw now, a smile but no girl.

“Welcome back to the real world,” she said as she tapped me on the cheeks.

But I would argue that the vision of the gothic church was much more real.

The next time I came around, I was in the midst of a Latino dance with another girl. Everybody crowded around us applauding. Enthusiastic cheers and whistles rang from all sides. It looked like I was taking the lead, even though I had no idea how to Latino dance. It was actually quite funny.

But then I saw Anna. She was standing at the other end of the room and was looking right at me. Her face reflected a mixture of astonishment, bewilderment and resentment. Our eyes met, then she turned and left the room. I stopped right in the middle of the next step and ran after her, trying to keep my balance.

I have never been as drunk as I was that night. I went out into the street. The smell of blooming chestnut trees hit me. I looked around and saw her. Anna was walking away, wrapped in a jumper, as if she was cold. I went after her, but my legs wouldn’t obey my brain, and I kept bumping into lamp posts and trees which seemed to come from nowhere. But I didn’t care, as the girl of my dreams was just a few steps away.

“Who do we have here?” I caught up with her and tried to put my arm around her waist.

Anna removed my arm, so I lost my balance and fell. She sighed and helped me up. “Yes, that’s what I am, a pig,” I said, trying to walk by her side. “I guess I had too much tonight. Why don’t you talk to me?”

There was no answer, so I went on.

“Look! The whole world is having fun today!”

And the world really was having fun. Moths were swarming in the lantern light, like the little elves that Sunny and I searched for as children. Stars danced in the sky to the sound of chirping crickets. Staring at the stars, I stumbled and almost fell again, but managed to grab hold of a lamp post. While I was embracing the post, I began to sing a children’s song. I would definitely have danced if I wasn’t so unsteady. Anna stopped and looked at me wearily.

“Come on,” she said as she took me by the hand.

Oh, it was the happiest moment of my life. We walked hand in hand, like a couple of sweethearts. Well, at least that’s how it seemed to me, even if it was a different experience for Anna. She said nothing, but I think she was smiling. I didn’t notice how we got to my house, but turned out she knew where I lived.

“It’s the first time I’ve walked a guy home.” Annie smiled at me and tried to free her hand, but I didn’t let go. “I have to go” she said gently but firmly.

“I don’t want you to go”, I whispered and leaned over to kiss her, but she turned away, and my lips barely touched her cheek. Her skin was as soft as peach and smelled like chocolate orange. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that moment.

She gently pulled away from me and said, “Goodnight, Walter.” I nodded. She turned and slowly walked away. I wish I hadn’t let her go, so she could have stayed with me forever. But I just watched her until she was completely out of sight.

8

The next morning, I felt terrible. And not only physically. I was tormented by my hangover and the vague sense of shame over how I behaved the night before. I was particularly distressed by the fact that most of the night had vanished from my memory. But I remembered Anna very well, and that wonderful romantic moment between us did not seem so romantic anymore. I reproached myself all day, and by the evening I came to the only decision that felt right under the circumstances. I would run! The devil had possessed me and was making me do it. I put some essential items in my backpack, then I took the money from my piggy bank. For almost two years, Sunny and I had been saving for motorbikes. We didn’t manage to save that much, but it was enough to keep me going for a couple of weeks at least.

Once my parents were sound asleep, I left the house. I didn’t have a particular plan. I just walked to the station and jumped into the first train to Munich. There weren’t many people onboard, but I didn’t sit down. I remained at the exit doors for almost three hours, leaning against the window and looking into the darkness. My heart was joyful and anxious at the same time. Adventures! I was ready for them and couldn’t wait for them to begin.

By dawn, I was in Munich. I walked out of the main station, and was immediately met by a city of glass and metal. It had been raining overnight, and the streets were fresh. Raindrops glistened on the windows in the rays of the rising sun. The streets were quiet, almost deserted. Only the roar of the garbage truck echoed from the walls. I was standing and looking around, gradually figuring out what to do next. I decided to surrender to fate and go wherever it took me. I was going to see the country and maybe even beyond to Europe. I planned to stay in different cities, large and small. I was going to find a place that filled my heart and soul, and I would stay there. I’d find a job and start a new life as an adult.

I hitch-hiked my way along. I walked for dozens of miles, slept in train stations and ate at roadside diners. I was stopped by police a couple of times, but I managed to convince them that I was going to Nuremberg or Dresden to my beloved grandmother. Once, I almost ran into a gang of skinheads. I ran away very fast.

At the end of my fifth day of travelling, I was somewhere between Austria, Germany and the Czech Republic. Hooray to the united Europe! I was walking along a country road that ran through vineyards. The sun was setting, and I was thinking of a shelter for the night. When I noticed a building on a hill in the distance. It was small, one story, and painted burgundy. I walked closer and saw there was a man in the yard. He stood with his back to me, cutting his roses.

“Good evening” I said to him in German.

“Good evening” he replied as he turned and looked at me.

I think he may have smiled, but I’m still not sure. The man was not very tall, well-built, and about 50 years old. His short dark hair was greying, and he had piercing blue husky-dog eyes.

“Could you tell me, please, if there’s anywhere nearby I could stay for the night?”

“The closest motel is 40 miles from here,” replied the man, waving his hand to the side. “You’ll get there by the morning,” he grinned. His *Hoch Deutsch [*standardised German] was flawless. “You can spend the night here.” The man nodded towards the house.

I agreed without hesitation. I slept like a log and didn’t have any dreams. The bed and the pillow felt like the greatest inventions of mankind.

I woke up early to drizzling rain pounding outside. The small room he’d offered me was dark and cool. In the corner, an old clock was loudly ticking away. It was 5.30am. The owner of the house was walking around. I could hear the creaking of floorboards. I stretched and was about to get up when I saw a dog and startled. A large black Labrador was sitting in the middle of the room and was staring at me.

“Alicia” called the voice of the man, and the dog jumped up and ran out of the room.

I got dressed and followed her through the living room and into the kitchen, which emitted the wonderful aroma of fresh coffee. The man was conjuring something up at the stove. Alicia, the unusually named dog, was sitting next to him, apparently waiting for breakfast.

Without turning around, the man said, “Sit down.”

I was confused, did he have eyes in the back of his head or something? I hadn’t even had a chance to say good morning to him, but he already knew I was there.

“Sit down” he repeated and pointed to the table.

My breakfast was waiting for me. Scrambled eggs, ham and fresh bread, which seemed to be just out of the oven. I sat down and began to eat. The man sat across from me and stared for a while as I was eating. Then he asked,

“What are you looking for in this area?”

The question surprised and puzzled me, as I didn’t even really know what I was looking for myself.

“A new life” I said uncertainly.

“A new life, heh?” he laughed. “A new life” he said again and shook his head, then got up from the table.

Coffee was boiling in a coffee pot on the old gas stove. The man turned off the heat and began to pour liquid into cups.

“And what about your old life?” he asked.

“I failed” I answered.

“How old are you, boy?” he said as he put the cup in front of me.

I looked at him. He had an unusual gaze and looked at me without any particular expression. It was difficult to decipher his mood, but even still I felt comfortable with him. I thought I could trust him. The hell could’ve I trusted him! But more on that later.

“Fifteen” I answered.

“Well, if you are looking for a new life, I have an offer for you.” He sat back in his chair and reached for the cup. “I need an assistant. There is a lot of work to do, but you’re not afraid of a challenge, are you?” He leaned forward a little.

“No,” I answered.

“I’ll give you shelter, food and anything else you need in exchange for a promise. You must stay here until November, when the last harvest of grapes is gathered.”

“All right” I promised.

He held out his hand and I shook it. His grip was strong and confident. This was not a man of compromise.

9

So, that’s how my life at the vineyard began. I worked from early in the morning until late at night, and soon forgot about everything. I had no time to mourn Sunny or think about Annie. My insomnia had disappeared, and my appetite returned. I grew four inches and gained strength. My old clothes now became too small, and my mentor brought me some new trousers, shirts, and boots. They were clearly custom-made, even if they were old-fashioned. They certainly weren’t t-shirts and jeans, but I wasn’t complaining. I definitely liked this new style.

The Mentor, which is what he insisted on being called, brought me back to life. He became a father figure to me. He took care of me. I remember I once spent the entire day in the scorching sun working in the vineyard, and in the evening I came down with a fever. He took some cans from the kitchen cupboard and made an absolutely crazy concoction. The smell alone made my eyes water.

“Do not worry, this won’t kill you. It will help you,” he said as he handed me a mug. Indeed, in ten minutes I was back on my feet and ready for my next job. I had never felt so light and cheerful.

“Nature gives us everything we need,” he used to say when talking about his herbs.

The Mentor taught me how, where and when to gather herbs, their types and purpose. And finally, how to make concoctions that not only cured any illness, but also improved strength, courage and even charm. Actually, the Mentor taught me a lot. I don’t recall my real father teaching me anything at all. I thought the Mentor was my friend. He never lectured me or tried to probe into my soul. He didn’t ask too many questions. He accepted me for who I was without trying to fix me or make me less “difficult”. He didn’t even think I was difficult. He encouraged me if there was something I couldn’t do and never scolded if I made mistakes. However, I couldn’t really call him a kind man. He rarely expressed any emotion and rarely smiled. If only I knew who he really was. On the other hand, it wouldn’t have changed anything if I did know.

The vineyard stood apart from busy routes and other farms. There was no-one else for many miles, and the Mentor didn’t allow me to go far, since I’d made my promise to him. To tell the truth, I had no desire to go anywhere. I came to enjoy the quiet and measured life full of village romance and fresh air but without any conventions, norms of behaviour, unnecessary questioning or false sympathy.

In my spare time, mostly in the evenings, I took a horse and rode around the area. The Mentor had five black thoroughbred horses. I fed and cleaned them and their stable. As a reward, the Mentor allowed me to ride. He taught me that as well. I discovered other passions too. Passions that I never would have imagined. In the living room there was a large bookcase with so many wonderful books hidden there! For connoisseurs of antiques, they were worth millions of Euros, but here they just gathered dust on the shelves. There were first editions of Shakespeare and Goethe, old maps of Europe, treatises of Greek classics. I’d never been a lover of books, but the Mentor’s library absorbed me. I spent hundreds of hours leafing through old, yellowed pages.

My silent companion, Alicia, was always close by. That’s if the Mentor didn’t have her with him. He was often away on business. I had no idea what kind of business he was involved in, and I wasn’t really very interested. I thought he was just a farmer. Little naive me!

Well, anyhow, when the Mentor was not home, I had to take care of Alicia. With Alicia everything was simple; I just had to put some dog food down for her and that was it. Looking after myself was far more complicated. When I got fed-up with pasta and fried eggs, I learned to roast meat and stew cabbage. It wasn’t as easy as I thought. So much food was thrown in the bin after my experiments! But at least Alicia had fun. It seemed to me that she was giggling at my sorry attempts.

Alicia was a beautiful dog. She had short black hair with a blue tint and huge violet eyes. I’m not certain if it was normal for dogs to have eyes like this. And what a character! She was wilful and stubborn, and constantly made fun of me. Sometimes she hid my stuff, sometimes she hid herself so that I had to look for her around the house while she was watching me quietly from a hiding place getting ready to jump out on me. In a nutshell, we were never bored when we were together.

However, the most interesting things happened at nights when the Mentor was away. One night I was woken by the sound of a grand piano playing. Somewhere deep behind the stone walls, an unknown musician was telling his story. I’d never heard anything as beautiful. There was every emotion within that melody: longing, passion, anger. I saw living pictures in my imagination. The music enthralled and carried me away to snow-capped mountains, then made me fall into darkness and despair. Was I dreaming? Can a dream be so real? Can we wonder in a dream whether we are actually dreaming? But the Mentor had no grand piano. There was no room in his tiny farmhouse for such a thing.

I got out of bed and walked into the living room. As far as I knew, there were only two exits from the living room. One to my room and the other into the corridor which led to the kitchen and the Mentor’s bedroom. But the melody was coming from behind a door I hadn’t noticed before. I pulled the handle and the door opened. Behind it was a long corridor with many more doors. All of them were open. The ghostly moonlight lit the way as I explored. Most of the rooms were empty, but here and there stood some old furniture. The melody was louder now, and it filled the entire space. At the end of the corridor, I saw a thin strip of light under a half-open door. The music was coming from there. I looked in. Chandeliers with burning candles were hanging on the wall. Against one wall was a grand piano. A girl was sitting at the piano with her back to me, so I could only see her long, dark hair. I wanted to open the door a little wider, but it creaked, and then I woke up. It was already morning. Alicia was sitting in the middle of the room and staring at me. Later when I checked there was no other door. Though I have heard a piano a few more times and could swear I wasn’t sleeping.

Another mysterious thing happened on the last day of the harvest season. It was almost mid-November, and the first frost was on the ground. The weather was nasty. Cold wind chilled to the bone, and the low and dark clouds were depressing. It looked like it was about to rain, but it didn’t come. The Mentor and I worked together side by side until late on a crop that was particularly important to him. The Mentor said that wine from these grapes is sweet like a mortal sin and couldn’t be compared to anything else. I later learnt that sin was something he understood.

By the end of the day, I was completely exhausted. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, only to be woken a short time later by voices and laughter. The sounds came from the living room. I wondered why the Mentor had guests at this hour, and why he didn’t tell me about it. I rolled over in bed, but couldn’t sleep. The voices were too loud and so was the music. In the end, I got dressed and looked out into the living room. It was dark and empty, and it now felt like the whole crowd was in my room. It was very unsettling. I put my ear to the bedroom wall and listened. The voices spoke in English, and I didn’t understand half of it. Something about the harvest, wine and mortals, but I wasn’t sure. I went back to my room and tried to listen from there. The voices were coming from inside the wall.

All of a sudden, right in front of my nose, a face appeared. It came out of the wall! It was the face of a middle-aged European man. He looked quite material and tangible, and certainly not like a ghost, although I wasn’t really sure how a ghost should look. The man winked at me and said, “Boo!” In fear, I recoiled and fell to the floor. He laughed and disappeared.

The fun lasted until dawn, and I didn’t sleep at all. I didn’t doubt my sanity, and I knew what was going on was not a dream or fantasy. Everything was real, but I didn’t understand how.

At 6 am when dawn broke, I got up, had breakfast and went outside. It was a little bit windy, but overall, the weather was good. I looked into the stables, but the horses were gone. Had the Mentor taken them? Next I walked through the vineyards, but everything was fine. By noon, I was back home and went to sleep on the living room couch.

A noise from the kitchen woke me. It was already dark, but some light was coming from the kitchen. I rubbed my eyes, got up from the couch and walked in. The Mentor was setting plates at the empty table. He looked tired, but happy. Alicia was curled up under the table and wagged her tail slightly when she saw me. I leaned over and patted her on the head. Five seconds later, when I looked back up, the table was already laid, and the Mentor was sitting in his chair holding a glass of red wine. Now, when I think about it, it seems strange, but at that point I was not at all surprised. I just picked up my glass and sat down in front of the Mentor.

“To the harvest,” he toasted.

“To the harvest,” I echoed.

For a while, we ate in silence. I was tormented by a question that I didn’t dare to ask.

“I think it’s time I told you something,” the Mentor said, finally breaking the silence.

He leaned back, and at first, I didn’t understand what was happening. Our surroundings had grown. Now we sat at a long oak table in a spacious dining room. Its stone walls were decorated with old, faded tapestries. The fire was burning in a huge fireplace, driving away the darkness. In front of the fireplace, on the bearskin, Alicia was lying, her position unchanged. I looked around, fascinated. I knew it! I knew all along that a real adventure was somewhere close by! The Mentor was watching my reaction with interest.

“Is this real?” I finally asked.

“Yes, Walter, the house you’ve lived in for almost four months was a simple illusion.”

“Illusion?”

“Which you created yourself. I’ve only shown you the direction, and your imagination drew up the missing details. If you want, I’ll teach you how to create illusions and control the minds of people.”

Of course, I wanted this! Who would refuse to learn magic?

“There is only one condition, Walter,” he said. “There is no way back. You cannot go back to your old life and to those you knew. Are you ready for that?”

“I have nothing to lose” I shrugged. “Of course, I agree.”

I was nervous and excited, but it was a pleasant excitement. I was enthralled by my mentor, a real magician, within this fantastical setting of a medieval castle. I had a feeling that I was part of a fairytale, or some kind of elaborate joke. I was expecting an anchorman from a popular reality show to pop out from behind the fireplace with the film crew hiding somewhere behind the curtains, but nothing like that happened.

The Mentor filled our glasses with wine and motioned me to stand up. I obeyed. He came up and put the glasses in front of me. Like a wizard, he pulled a long needle out of his sleeve and pricked his finger. A few drops of blood dripped into the wine. Then he held out his hand to me, and I knew that he wanted me to do the same. As if mesmerised, I watched as a drop of my blood dissolved in wine. He took my glass and handed it to me.

I took a few sips and felt something strange. My heart grew cold and was beating slower and slower. The chill spread over my body. I was freezing on the inside. I couldn’t breathe, and greedily gasped for air. The glass fell out of my hands and broke into small pieces. Wine spilled over the stone floor. My body faltered as I tried to stay on my feet, but I couldn’t and fell to my knees. I didn’t feel a thing, but my mind had never been so clear. I could see everything that was happening to me. I saw the Mentor, who stood to one side and watched me. I saw Alicia, who was sitting beside him and looking at me too. My mind was now out of space and time. I had no body. I felt no pain, no cold, nothing. Suddenly, everything disappeared. For a split second the darkness fell, and I was gone.

10

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. A large red canopy was spread over my head. I looked around and realised that I was lying on a huge bed. Across from me, in a chair, the Mentor was dosing. We were in a small room with panelled walls. A fire was crackling in the fireplace. By the window, I could see a heap of my old books on a desk, and my clothes on a chair. I sat up, and my body immediately started to tingle in response. I looked at the Mentor, and found that he was not asleep anymore, but watching me. I gave a start in surprise. A hint of smile flashed on his face.

“Am I dead?” I asked.

“No,” he said, “you’ve just reached a new level.”

“Does that mean I’ve died physically?” I asked, but then thought what a stupid question that was.

“No, Walter,” he smiled. “You are all right. Go to sleep.”

He rose from his seat and touched my forehead. At this very moment, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

I didn’t wake up until the next evening. When I arrived in the hall, the Mentor was waiting for me. The table was laid and candles were burning. We dined in silence. Hundreds of questions raced through my mind, but I didn’t know which one to start with. I still couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. From time to time, I cast a glance at my Mentor, but his face showed absolutely no emotion.

After dinner, he took me to his study. It was quite cosy, with relatively new looking leather furniture, a large desk and an old bookcase. Was it the bookcase from the small house? While I was looking around, the Mentor sat down in his chair and started to talk.

“What I am going to tell you, you’ve already known for a long, long time. You are becoming one of us, Walter. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories about sorcerers and witches. People have made up stories about us over the years, but they still don’t know the real truth. But I will tell you.”

He explained that magic is not given to anyone, and not everyone can use it to its fullest. He also told me that magic itself isn’t black and white, but it is divided by Sua – beings that possess and command it. Many thousands of years ago on earth there was only one race, human. The human race grew and occupied more and more territory. Under the influence of natural conditions and a new way of life, ordinary man was doomed to adapt or die, and so he started to mutate. That’s how Sua, dwarves, werewolves, vampires and many other creatures came into being. Once they were folklore, and now they are blockbuster stars. Many of them ceased to exist a long time ago, but the human, having no special abilities or outstanding physical strength, survived. Humans destroyed almost everyone who might be a threat. Everyone who differed, everyone who possessed greater abilities to theoretically achieve superiority. As a result, other beings went into hiding or vanished among people, and those who could not were gone forever.

“We’re living in a wonderful time, Walter”, the Mentor told me. “Now everyone can be anyone. The era of secret societies and ancient mysteries has sunk into oblivion. Now you can shout on every corner that you’re a wizard, or vampire, or wood elf. However, there will always be those who will believe you and not condemn you to a mental hospital. But no one will take you seriously. We are a part of history, and it’s not bad at all. We no longer have to hide. We can live among the people, and they think we are just friendly madmen, or freaks if you like. You choose whoever you will become to them.”

“There’s one more thing,” he said. “There is no absolute evil as well as no absolute good, at least to my knowledge. We choose a side. Some of us will always be stuck at the Crossroads, where there are no sides and all the creatures are equal.”

“Which side are we on?” I asked.

“Let me put it this way, Walter,” he said with a sly grin. “It is much more interesting to be a bad guy.”

Now, I would say that it’s easier to be a bad guy. But despite all the pain he inflicted on me later, and how he treated me and those who were dear to me, I still saw him as a kindred spirit. Knowing the truth about him, I still felt we had the same philosophy – and I still do.

The Mentor told me that our power has different manifestations, though we can all influence the material world and the minds of living beings, but in a different way and to a different degree. My path was to create illusions and the Mentor could control weather, which I witnessed first-hand a little bit later. “You should have a strong body as well as a strong spirit,” he told me.

He taught me to fence and hunt. I studied martial arts and philosophy, languages and history, physics and chemistry. What the Mentor told me differed from what I learned at school, but it was much more interesting. I was rediscovering a world that I always knew, and I realised that I didn’t know anything at all! I felt an irresistible desire to learn more, to know more. More, more, more!

Since the day I became the Mentor’s apprentice, I stopped working for him. I had more free time, which I happily spent exploring my new home. What I had taken for a small one-story burgundy painted farmhouse, was, in fact, a huge medieval castle with towers, stone staircases and passages, and endless rooms, doors and windows. Step by step I was trying to understand this phenomenon, and gradually I began to get used to the idea that in this world even the impossible was possible.

The castle was gloomy and cold. The Mentor occupied just a couple of rooms in the south wing, and the rest were empty or locked. The wind howled through the long corridors with darkened walls and ancient suits of armour covered with dust. Heavy velvet curtains embroidered with gold hadn’t been opened for hundreds of years. The smell of damp, mould and old age wafted from every corner. Hundreds of priceless artefacts were rotten, destroyed by time. I wanted to clean out the debris, to open the curtains and let the fresh breeze into the dark stone rooms. But when I approached the Mentor with this idea, he said, “Why do you care, Walter? This castle has been dead for many years. Spend your time on education. It is more important to you now than raising dust and digging out this junk.”

And so I studied.

11

Winter was coming. The first frosts fell. Heavy clouds were hanging over the castle. Now and then the cold, drizzling rain painted the already gloomy landscape into depressive black and brown tones. I had no desire to go outside in such weather. Although inside wasn’t much better. Living rooms were heated by the fireplaces, but it was still pretty cold. My fingers and feet were always freezing. I know I’ll never forget that feeling.

I spent all my time in the Mentor’s study. When he was at home, he was sitting at his desk writing something, or giving me lectures. Sometimes he gave me books that I had to study myself. He had lots of books, old and new. Books with notes, comments and bookmarks. He was serious about my education and was strict in testing me. As a rule, that happened on Tuesdays. He took his chair by the fireplace and started to ask questions on whole topics. Our conversations lasted several hours. He made me think, analyse, evaluate, and scolded me when I was just trying to memorise something. We argued, joked and disputed. What a wonderful time that was in my life … I wish it had lasted longer.

As before, the Mentor was often away for a day or two and sometimes for a whole week, but I was never alone. Somewhere in the castle there were servants, although I never saw them. How else could it be explained that every day at certain times the dining table became crammed with fragrant and delicious food? There was always enough to feed a dozen guys like me. And how else was it possible that every evening a hot bath was waiting for me, and my clothes were always cleaned and ironed? And how they could do it without electricity was another question entirely.

Also, I had Alicia. I guess her job was to make sure that I didn’t do anything stupid. But I didn’t. I wrapped myself up in a woollen blanket and sat with a book on the old couch in front of the fireplace. Alicia was lying with her head on my lap, pretending to be asleep. I was stroking her and telling her about everything; some new stuff I’d read or some dream I’d had at night. Sometimes I spoke to her about Sunny, and one day I noticed that it had become easier to think about him. He felt alive to me, somewhere in a past life. Did I ever have a past life? Or had I lived here for hundreds of years, listening to the winds howling in the corridors and the logs crackling in the fireplace.

Weeks went by, but I didn’t notice. I was living somewhere at the edge of reality, and I was lost in my books. I didn’t know the date, the month or even the day of the week. Once, in the middle of the night, some flashes of light woke me. I went to the window and saw fireworks in the distance. New Year had arrived. I leant my forehead against the glass. It was as cold as ice. Alicia stood next to me with her paws on the windowsill and looked out of the window. I felt sad. I remembered last Christmas when Sunny and I were standing in the crowd in front of the town hall and were counting the strokes. I remember I wished then that Sunny would stop taking drugs and that something interesting would happen in my life. Well, sometimes wishes do come true.

Alicia whimpered softly and I closed my eyes. Blood rushed to my face and was throbbing in my temples. My throat was dry, my heart was beating faster and faster, and the tension in my head grew. I put my hands on the windowsill and clenched my fists. I was losing control. The ground was slipping from under my feet. I thought I was going to cry or lose consciousness, but suddenly the glass cracked and shattered into many pieces. Fresh air hit my face and I jumped back. My self-control was returning, but too slowly. My hands trembled, and my legs refused to hold my weight. Alicia looked at me and pricked up her ears. Was she hurt? I examined her from all sides. She was fine, but I wasn’t. My right cheek was bleeding, but in my current condition it seemed so trivial, so I patted Alicia on the head and went back to bed. Alicia lied down beside me and began to lick the wound on my cheek. The pain gradually subsided, and I found that I liked the feel of her rough tongue. Then she buried her nose into my neck and made a soft noise that sounded like “don’t be sad.” I hugged her and soon fell asleep.

The next morning, the chatter of my teeth woke me. Sleeping in a room with a broken window is practically the same as sleeping outside. I tried to fix the glass myself, but to no avail. I didn’t have enough magic for it. So, I went searching for something to fix the window with. I wandered from room to room but couldn’t find anything suitable. Alicia was following me like a silent black shadow. I walked through a room filled with antique cookware and broken china, and into a large hall. The afternoon sun was streaming through the curtained windows, driving away the darkness and illuminating the walls which were covered with antique muskets and swords, maces and spears, rapiers and crossbows.

On one of the walls there was a huge painting of a battle scene. A castle in the background reminded me of the Mentor’s home, but it was engulfed in flames. In front of the castle was a rider on a black steed. His dark armour and copper tinted hair glistened in the firelight. His face was contorted with rage and his eyes… that piercing, cold stare. I saw that same look every time I looked at the Mentor. In one hand the rider was clutching a spear, and its tip had pierced the chest of a knight, who was lying on the ground. This knight’s blond hair and pale armour were stained with mud and blood, but he was not defeated. It seemed that he was trying to repel the attack with his sword. I went closer to examine it. The blade was beautifully engraved with an inscription in Latin, but I didn’t have the knowledge to understand it.

I looked into the face of the white knight. The paint was faded and peeling in some places, but his eyes were alive and full of determination. It seemed to me that any moment he would come to life. I was fascinated by him. The artist who depicted the triumph of the black rider was certainly on the side of the white knight. And so was I. My heart was overflowing with pain. I didn’t want the white knight to die. I reached out and touched his painted forehead. It was cold and dusty. Alicia, who had been standing next to me the whole time, suddenly growled and attacked me. She sunk her teeth into the hand that was touching the wall. Her grip was firm and deep, but short-lived. She let go of me almost immediately.

“What are you doing?” I shouted, rubbing my wrist. It was bleeding. She was just staring at me. “Mad Dog!”

I went to hit her, but she didn’t move.

“Ah, to hell with you!” I waved my hand and walked away. She wanted to follow me, but I turned around and yelled at her.

“Get out of here!”

She froze.

“Do not follow me, dumb animal! Get out!”

She sat still, and I went into another room and slammed the door with all my might. A piece of plaster fell on my head. I shook it off and looked around. In a mildewed corner, there were a few canvases covered with cobwebs. Years later I learnt that these were the priceless works of sixteenth century masters, but then I just used them to fix the window and warm up a little.

After that incident, I ignored Alicia for several weeks. I let the mysterious servants take care of her. I didn’t need such a crazy dog. Besides, the Mentor had been away for so many days that I had even started to worry that something had happened to him, but then he returned.

It was a winter evening. A snowstorm was howling outside. I was sitting at his desk drawing a medieval castle with a quill pen. My fingers were stained with ink, but I had nothing else to draw with – not a single pencil! Sometimes I felt sorry that I’d left my comic books at home in Germany. What adventures I could imagine for my beautiful Amazon now!

In came the Mentor. He was wearing a summer shirt and shorts that were definitely not appropriate for the blizzard that was knocking on the windows. The Mentor looked tanned and fresh. Alicia, who was lying on the coach pretending to be extremely bored, immediately jumped up and sprinted towards him.

“My dear,” he said as he patted her on the head. “Hello, Walter.” He came up to the table and put a pile of books in front of me.

The books were new with that wonderful smell of paper and ink. Economy and Law. Astonished, I started to leaf through them. They were so different from all the books I had studied before, and they certainly didn’t belong in this world I was living now.

“Soon you will need such knowledge,” said the Mentor.

I wanted to ask him something, but his attention was fully on Alicia. He got down on his knees and stroked her. For a moment, I had a feeling they were talking.

That night, she came up to me and buried her nose in my neck.

“You want me to forgive you?” I asked.

She put her head on her paws, and her eyes were glistening in the darkness.

“Oh, you know I can’t stay mad at you forever,” I said, “but don’t bite me again, ok?”

She nodded and made a quiet sound.

“Missed you,” I said as I stroked her. Though she couldn’t answer, I was glad that she was near.

12

The next day began with another surprise. When I came down for breakfast, I found a boy sitting at the table. He was younger than me by two, maybe three years. His clothes were simple, a sweatshirt and jeans, but his face was unusual. There was something Eastern in it and at the same time something Western. He had black oriental eyes and high cheekbones, short raven hair and a tan, which one can get only in the southern latitudes. I’d never seen such a beautiful person before. He was eating rolled oats with an unbelievable appetite.

“Hallo,” I said in German.

He immediately stopped eating and looked at me. For some reason, he looked confused.

“Hello,” he said, but in English.

“Walter, this is Reeve.” The Mentor appeared as usual from out of nowhere, “Reeve Raven, my nephew. Reeve, this is Walter. I told you about him.”

Reeve nodded. His slightly slanted eyes were serious, and he didn’t smile, but he looked quite friendly. I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, I was relieved to see someone who was about my age; but on the other hand, I always felt some antipathy towards strangers. Moreover, it turned out that the Mentor had already spoken to him about me, but I knew nothing about him. I sat down and took my plate.

“Where are you from?” I asked in English.

Over the last few months, I had practised my English and I could now communicate quite well.

“United States,” he answered.

“Oh, a long way from here then,” I said and looked at the Mentor. I didn’t know what else to say to this strange guy.

“Reeve is going to stay with us for several days,” said the Mentor, “and then we will send him off to Oxford or Cambridge. Reeve is going to be a lawyer.”

Reeve looked confused again, and I felt a hint of jealousy. I’d got used to the idea that the Mentor was mine and only mine. I didn’t even think that somewhere outside the walls of this castle he had another life. Not one of us said a word more. After breakfast, the Mentor called me into his study and said,

“I want you to make friends with him. He’s suffered a terrible tragedy, lost his entire family. I’m sure you can understand how that feels.” I nodded. I understood. “He is not very sociable. I want you to talk to him. It will be good for both of you.” At that moment, I was amazed by how much he cared about the boy, but now I’m amazed at what a heartless and insincere person he actually was.

After breakfast, Reeve and I were riding through the forest on horseback. The morning was cold. The trees were covered with frost that glistened with hundreds of colours in the sunlight. The crystal garden. Lifeless and cold. For some reason, all of this reminded me of that cloudy day in the park when Sunny confessed to his addiction and I felt embarrassed. I felt a cold lump in my breast, and with every minute, it was getting heavier and heavier. Reeve was riding nearby, immersed in his thoughts. He stared ahead, his eyes were cold and resolute.

“Who are you?” I asked.

He winced and looked at me.

“Raven,” he replied.

I remembered that the Mentor, introducing him in the morning, called him Reeve Raven. I thought then it must be a family name, but now I was not so sure.

“Is that really your name?” Reeve looked at me with surprise and incomprehension, but instead of answering, he let go of the reins, and before I could blink, he soared skyward as a black bird. He made a couple of circles over my head and dropped back into the saddle. His transformation had happened with lightning speed. In just a second Reeve was back in his human form, looking at me, but with interest.

“Cool.” I said the only thing that came to mind.

“What can you do?” he asked.

I looked into his eyes. They were black and bottomless. I had never seen eyes like this before. I focused, but nothing happened for a long time. Blood was slowly reaching my temples, and they throbbed harder and harder. My head started spinning. Again, there was that strange feeling that I was going to pass out, when suddenly we found ourselves in the middle of a tropical jungle. I exhaled. It worked! Reeve looked around in surprise. He touched a vine hanging over his head and stared at me.

“It’s real!” he cried.

The more he saw and touched, the more detail appeared. Now there were birds and snakes, and the jungle was filled with sounds. The air grew hotter and wetter. Now Reeve was part of my fantasy, as once I was part of the Mentor’s fantasy farmhouse. The horses snorted, and I didn’t know whether they saw the illusion, or whether for them, we were still standing in the middle of a snow-covered forest. Meanwhile, Reeve dismounted, squatted down and began to examine the insects that were crawling on the ground.

“This is awesome!” he said at last. We were back in the winter forest. “Uncle Henry thinks a lot of you”, he said, getting on a horse. “Now I know why.”

That’s how I learned that the real name of my Mentor was Henry or Henrich, but for some reason he had always hidden this from me.

“You must know your Uncle Henry very well, huh?”

“Oh no, not really,” he said. “But he was very kind to me. After what happened, he took me even though he didn’t have to. I am grateful to him for that.” Reeve immediately grew sad, and I decided not to ask him what happened to his family.

My interactions with Reeve really helped me. I finally perfected the skill of creating illusions, and it wasn’t so difficult as it turned out. The most important thing was to create a shell, and the human imagination would fill it with all the necessary stuff. My first illusions were simple and a bit ridiculous in their naivety. For Reeve, I created fabulous palaces from popular computer games, crowded supermarkets, cities I’d never been to. Reeve didn’t teach me much, except some useful tricks like moving objects or making fire. We had a good time together, but we only ever talked about magic. He didn’t tell about himself, and I didn’t ask. I understood him, as I also wouldn’t be eager to share my feelings with strangers.

Once, I asked him: “Is this your first time in Europe?”

“Yes,” he replied using a one word answer as usual, and I was preparing for another pause in our conversation when he continued to speak. We were in the hall of arms. Reeve took an old sword from the wall and now was turning it over in his hands.

“I’ve never been so far from home,” he said. His finger gently touched the blade. “But I have no home anymore.” Reeve waved the sword. “You know, Ravens have always lived apart. We had our own island, and we didn’t like strangers, but about once every 10 years some of us were sent out into the world.” He stretched out his hand with the sword and watched as the light reflected on the blackened metal. “The world is changing quickly, it’s hard to keep up with it. And this time, I was chosen. I had to become a private school student.” He moved the blade from side to side. “I was brought to Los Angeles and left alone. By my second day, before I’d even had time to get acquainted with the class, I just knew that there was something wrong, and I needed to go home. Ravens never meddled in the affairs of others. They didn’t cause any harm to anyone, and they spoke to nobody else. Absolutely nobody. Who could have done this? I just don’t know.” Reeve put the sword back on the wall. I was impressed by his self-control. Not a single muscle moved on his face, and his eyes were still dark and cold. “Someone killed them all. Everyone. No-one was left… ” again he ran his hand over the blade, “… except me. I’m going to find out who did it and I will destroy them without mercy, just like they did to us.” He turned away from the sword and looked right at me.

I was embarrassed. I felt an almost physical wave of coldness and hatred emanating from him. His eyes were burning with fire, but in a moment that hostility evaporated, and he was back to normal again. The change was striking, as if two different personalities lived within him. It would only take me six months or so to learn to do exactly the same.

When he left with the Mentor, the castle seemed particularly empty and dreary. Although I had Alicia, my silent friend, she could not talk to me, so I had no choice but to take up books again. The Mentor had left some out for me.

13

When the snow melted, I went back to work in the vineyard, though it was no longer necessary. The manual labour in the open air was more like entertainment for me, especially now I’d finally learnt to use my magic. It seemed to me then that my powers knew no bounds. I didn’t have to make much of an effort to summon it anymore. On the contrary, I could hardly restrain it. It’s hard to describe what was going on in my bedroom at night. I entered into a world of nightmares, a world in which my past life was trying to break out. Broken glass, overturned tables and other stuff was scattered around, creating a special kind of décor in my bedroom.

I continued to explore the castle. One stormy night in May, I reached my last area of exploration – the northern wing. I stood at the enormous open door and peered into the darkness. For a moment, a bolt of lightning illuminated ancient vaults, and echoing thunder reverberated through the castle. Again, the darkness surrounded me. I could barely even see the outlines. Noises and strange sounds were coming from all sides, and they made the blood in my veins run cold. I tried to concentrate. I knew that chandeliers hung on the walls, as there was no electricity in the castle. One minute, two, ten. Finally, hundreds of candles flared and disturbed the sleeping bats, who flew away screeching.

I was highly impressed with what I saw. At the end of a long, wide hallway there was a huge set of double doors with a family coat of arms carved into them. In one of the musty corners, I saw the whitened bones of a chained skeleton. Between the peeling columns stood statues of once beautiful ladies and gentlemen, covered with dried wax and keeping watch over centuries of history, along with the bats and other creatures that dwelled there. Antique candleholders were covered with dust and cobwebs. The webs were everywhere. They were hanging from the ceiling and covering the walls in fanciful shapes. Trying not to breathe in the acrid smell of old, burnt wax and desperately fighting the urge to run away, I went ahead. The sound of my footsteps echoed sharply in the sudden silence.

As I reached the end of the hallway, I looked back. There the lights were flickering, and nature was raging. But here, in this deathly silence, I heard only my jerky breathing. I thought I felt a presence, but I told myself not to think about it and pulled the dusty door handle. It was in the shape of a wolf’s head. The decayed door didn’t yield, and suddenly, I was no longer scared, I was curious. I took a few steps back, closed my eyes and focused all my energies on the door. The surrounding space was now filled with rustling sounds and I felt the rage of nature, but I paid no attention.

“Doors, open! Open the doors!”

I repeated that phrase as a spell. And they opened. For a few seconds, a blood-curdling squeal drowned out all other sounds. A gust of wind nearly knocked me off my feet and put out the candles. The howling wind became louder. Lightning lit up the room. A chill ran down my back and I spun around. Darkness surrounded me like velvet.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, I tried to convince myself as I relit the candles. I looked around. A library! I was in an old library with high ceilings, endless racks, and so many books I thought it would take a lifetime to read them all. I walked over to the bookshelves. This was it! This is where the Mentor’s books were coming from. This is the library that my mind had pulled out of the Mentor’s illusion. I never even suspected that he was hiding such a treasure from me. I took a random book and blew the dust off it. Old, yellowed pages stuck together and when I tried to unstick them, they turned into dust. No! I stared at the cover of the book and realised that nothing lasts forever. This book was like my life, and I could not afford to waste it on fear, depression and doubt. Suddenly, I wanted to take everything it could offer me and even more. I left the library feeling determined to make some change.

A few minutes later, I stormed into the Mentor’s study. He was sitting at his desk, surrounded by a pile of old books, and was writing something with a long black pen. The room smelled of tobacco, wood and something burning. The Mentor slowly raised his head and looked at me expectantly.

“I need some practice,” I said.

“What exactly do you want?” He continued to write, occasionally glancing at one of the books.

For a few moments, I was shifting from one foot to another and finally decided,

“I want to go to town.”

He put down his pen and looked at me attentively.

“Promise me you’ll come back before dawn.”

“Well, of course, why?”

“Promise me you’ll come back before dawn,” he said again and held out his hand.

I walked over to him and uncertainly held my hand out to meet his. A sharp blade touched my palm and I flinched in pain. A few drops of blood fell on the table.

“Promise me you’ll come back before dawn,” he repeated.

“I promise I’ll be back before dawn,” I said, and shook his hand.

At the time I was surprised by his distrust, but now I understand it. He was letting this young and inexperienced magician out into the big wide world. A boy who was full of confidence in his strength and abilities, but had no idea what to do with his powers.

I saddled a horse. The stable, by the way, as well as vineyard was very real. The storm had not abated, in fact, it had strengthened. I rode in the pouring rain but was immensely happy. In a couple of hours, I was in Prague. The Mentor had been wise to keep the proximity of Prague a secret from me. If I had known just how close it was, he would not have been able to keep me in the vineyard for a year. Perhaps only if I was chained.

I came to the Old Town. It was not raining in the city and a huge yellow moon was shining in the sky. Prague charmed me. Narrow, winding ancient streets glowed in the orange light of lanterns. There were black spires of gothic cathedrals, street musicians and the delicious smell of stew and sweet cabbage.

The clatter of hooves echoed from the old walls. Despite the late hour, the streets were busy. Tourists, surprised and curious, followed me with their eyes. And I felt like a medieval lord surveying his territory. Over the last year, my hair had grown and was now almost down to my shoulders. I usually tied it up in a ponytail, but now my locks were tousled and clung to my cheeks in wet curls. I was wearing an old-fashioned silk shirt which I’d unbuttoned slightly as I was hot on the road, black trousers and high boots for riding. So, my appearance suited my fantasy quite well. I admired my reflection in the dark window displays. I was in love. With myself.

My triumphant procession lasted as far as the Old Town tower of the Charles Bridge. Its dark silhouette and white statues stood out against the dark blue sky. Along with a group of tourists, I crossed the road and dismounted near the monument to Charles IV. “Please, forgive me Your Majesty” I said looking at one of the history’s great rulers, while tying my horse to the fence.

When I passed under the arches of the tower and stepped on the bridge, a strange feeling came over me. It was probably the first time in the past year that I’d appreciated what was really happening to me. It wasn’t all a dream, and right now, I really was standing here in this very special place with its indescribable atmosphere created by the blackened sculptures, pave stones, lights, trades people, musicians and tourists. I walked up to the stone wall of the bridge and peered into the distance. On the other shore stood a majestic cathedral. Its spire was lit by hundreds of spotlights that pointed skyward. I admired it for a long time, clutching the cold stone with my hands. I was kind of dizzy. I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life. I looked up and saw hundreds of white gulls circling over my head. They looked ghostly against the backdrop of the black sky. I wanted to share my excitement with someone, but who? I thought of Sunny, and my heart felt sad and lonely. When was the last time I’d thought about him? Two or three weeks ago? Will I actually forget him one day? Will our friendship really be just one of many memories? I hadn’t even seen his grave. I didn’t even say goodbye to him. I leaned over the railing and looked at the black surface of the river. Sunny, Sunny, I promise that I will never forget you.

Soon the musicians went home, and the tourists to their hotels. Restaurants closed, and the streets were deserted. That’s then I spied my first target. I disliked him right away. Some people seem to be asking for something bad to happen to them. This individual was quite young, overweight and completely drunk. He was telling an unbearably boring story in a foreign language to his female companion who was blonde and wearing ripped jeans, the latest fashion. They went into a bar and sat down at a table. I followed them. The man did not shut up, but his companion listened to him without interrupting. Perhaps she was even interested. After making sure that there was no-one else in the bar except the three of us and the bartender, I created a little illusion, so I wasn’t noticed and then walked up to the fat man. I put my hands around his neck. I knew that my fingers were cold as ice. He shivered. I saw the reflection of his face in the window. He was pale and his lips moved as if to say something. The guy tried to pull away, but I just tightened my grip. I started to whisper in his ear something in Latin, and watched as his eyes widened. He looked as though he was going to have a stroke.

Meanwhile, the blonde pulled several times at his sleeve, shouted at him, jumped up from her chair, ran for a bartender and the two of them stood over us and looked on in bewilderment, but they could not see me. Next, she hit my target in the face. I was caught off-guard and let go. The magic dissipated. I barely had time to take a seat at the table, and if they were not so busy with the fat man, they probably would have thought that I materialised out of thin air. As for my victim, he fell to the floor together with his chair, but immediately came around and cursed. His companion began to wail as she tried to help him up, but he roughly pushed her away and got up with some difficulty. The bartender leaned over him asking if he was ok and the guy waved his hand. Everything was fine. After that, they sat in silence for a long time without ordering anything. I sat at the next table and considered how I could hone my skills.

At dawn, I was back in the castle, as promised. Tired and exhausted, I fell asleep right away and was dreaming about the deserted streets of Prague and the sound of hooves on the cobblestones.

After that, the Mentor let me go to the city several more times. He allowed me to buy clothes I liked. I immediately bought some jeans, but almost didn’t wear them, as the old-fashioned trousers were much more comfortable. He also allowed me to buy a bike, so I had more time to get back by dawn. By this time, I was a strange sight – a weird Victorian boy on an ultra-modern bike. Ah, the memories. The lonely highway, the wind in my ears and an old tune from the early nineties in my head: “*Ride the wind. Never coming back until I touch the midnight sun …” [*Poison – Ride the wind]. I felt totally free. How wrong I was!

I fell in love with Prague completely and irrevocably. I loved her streets, her time-blackened sculptures, her people who were always ready to exchange a few words about some nonsense, and her tourists with cameras on every corner. It was the tourists I was hunting. I became their ghosts and vampires, I carried them into past centuries and epochs. Some fled in terror, some could not understand what was happening to them, some were delighted and tried to capture everything they saw. But naturally, they took home with them nothing but a pile of photos of empty streets because I did not have power over technical devices. Over time, I learned to cast spells on entire groups of people. The newspapers were reporting that 200 people saw St. Wenceslas pacing the Charles Bridge in his shining armour and slippers, about 300 cats dancing in a ring at the Old Town square, and the babies placed by a local sculptor on the television tower actually crawling. So, I had fun. I could do anything, except one thing.

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